


Visits

by Azzandra



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mild Gore, Sadstuck, there is no aspect of Gamzee and Seagoatdad's relationship that isn't sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the old goat drops in for a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visits

==> Be the awful aloof custodian

 

Well, that's not really fair. You can hardly be around to coddle a wriggler when there are more vital errands to be run.

 

Like crushing an encroaching seadweller between your jaws. Oh, look, this one had a harpoon. How adorable. Did she think she was going to get you with that little thing? Honestly, you'd think after all this time, they'd learn to STAY THE FUCK AWAY from the MOTHERFUCKING COASTLINE. Even your half-wit clown of a kid would have learned to steer clear of the blood-purpled waters, were he of the aquatic persuasion.

 

Which he is not. You will be the first to admit that this puts something of a crimp in your relationship, but you sure as hell don't waste any time crying about it. The little fucker is clingy enough as things are, you shudder to think how things would be if he could follow you around everywhere. You'd probably never get anything done.

 

Now that seadweller's lusus has smelled her blood in the water, and she's coming at you, pissed as all hell. Some sort of squid thing, about a quarter your size, but you know from experience those fuckers are vicious as all hell. She extends her tentacles, trying to grab at your front legs. You bite down on one, but the other tentacle twists around your neck, and she's pulling herself close, opening her maw and revealing jagged rows of sharp teeth.

 

The FUCK if you're letting her anywhere near you with those things.

 

You pull your head to the side suddenly, ripping the tentacle in your mouth clean in half. The squid stops dead in the water for a fraction of a second, torn between her anger and her survival instinct: one's telling her to rip the motherfucker who killed her kid to shreds, and the other is telling her to get the fuck out of there before the same thing happens to her. Too late, though.

 

You take advantage of this momentary indecision to skewer her with your horns. She thrashes for a long time impaled like that, and even though she swats at you with her tentacles, it's ineffectual and more annoying than harmful. Probably she's already dead, and her nervous system's giving one last hurrah before shutting down completely. You don't care, you're just pissed because it's a fucking pain to scrape her off your head. You find some large jagged rocks that help, but it still takes some doing to pry her off. You keep fucking forgetting how messy this maneuver is.

 

With the cloying taste of blood on your tongue, you set off for the shore. You need to check if the goddamn seadweller got to your kid. She was coming from just about that direction, and you wouldn't really count on the fact that your fucking moron of a wriggler could defend himself against some plucky bitch with a harpoon. Probably wouldn't even try, the little fucker. Would offer her pies, or some shit.

 

The things you do for that fucking kid.

 

==> Be the concerned ward

 

Nah, it's chill, bro, you're not concerned. The old goat hasn't been around in a while, but that don't mean nothing. 

 

And it's a nice night, and all, and you're pretty sure having that extra pie was a good idea, because everything feels pretty motherfucking good with the universe right now. You're sitting on the beach, building sandhives, but they keep collapsing because you're not really sober enough to realize that dry sand doesn't make the best construction material.

 

Once in awhile, you remember why you're out here, and you scan the horizon, looking for the tell-tale signs of the old goat dropping in for a visit. It doesn't happen often, and the visits are usually short, and you never really know when they'll happen or what mood your custodian will be in (anything ranging from 'cranky, but indulgent' to 'pissed off and violent'), but that's what makes it so motherfucking miraculous, right?

 

The sound of distant bleating draws your attention to the water (whoa, you must have spaced out for a bit there), and you see the old goat swimming towards you, his tail splashing the water like a particularly angry oar.

 

You smile and wave, and he's getting closer now, and closer, and closer. Finally, with one last violent thrust of his tail, the goat launches himself as near the beach as he can, landing in the shallow waters where you can go right up to him, even if you can't swim.

 

(You tried asking the old goat for swimming lessons when you were younger. The answer was always a resounding, though non-verbal, “fuck no”.)

 

You pull yourself to your feet, even though everything feels pleasantly floaty, and trudge into the water knee-deep. You don't have any shoes on, but your pants get pretty soaked. You don't notice.

 

The goat, with his indigo eyes narrowed, is giving you that appraising look he always gives you, like he's trying to remember if you'd always been like this. He cranes his head down to you and he sniffs, and you take advantage of his snout's proximity to give him the most bitchtits miraculous hug ever. You're getting wet all over, but you don't care, even if the night air is somewhat cold this time of year and even though the slight breeze is leaving you chilled. Your paint is also getting messed up, streaked by rivulets of water, but that's easy to fix, and worth it if it means you get to spend time with your lusus.

 

The old goat breathes out violently, hard enough to almost push you off, but you hold on, even when he raises his head slightly. You're still latched on, and you're raised up as well and you're dangling over the water. The goat relents and lowers his head again, tolerating your hug for a few moments longer.

 

He makes inquiring noises, which thunder in the still air.

 

“Naw, I'm motherfucking great,” you tell him. “Ain't seen nobody all night, 'cept you.”

 

The old goat gives a curt nod and plants his feet in the sand, getting ready to push himself into the deeper water.

 

“Hold on, you leaving already, motherfucker?” you ask, dismayed.

 

The old goat gives you an annoyed look (every look he gives you is some shade of annoyed, but you're used to it by now), and snorts. Of course he's going. He's got shit to do.

 

“Aw, c'mon, you went and all got yourself beached, bro, least you could do is hang out for a while, know what I mean?”

 

No, the old goat bleats. He doesn't motherfucking know what you mean.

 

You're crestfallen and it must show on your face, because the old goat sits down in a more comfortable position and snorts derisively: what the fuck do you want?

 

Encouraged, you climb on one of his legs and start telling him about all the things that happened since the last time he visited. You tell him about your friends, and about practicing on the unicycle, and making the best motherfucking pie that you can remember earlier that evening.

 

The old goat seems to be listening, as far as you can tell. You're pretty sure, at least, that that particular look of annoyance is the one he gets when he's listening to you.

 

You manage to tell him everything, and when you finally slow down, stumbling over your words and pausing to remember what you might have forgotten, the old goat indicates that he's leaving, whether you're finished or not. He looks pretty motherfucking dried out, so you can't exactly blame him.

 

He pushes you off his leg by nudging you with his snout, and waits until you're completely out of the water before he leaves. A few inelegant thrashing leaps later, he's in deep water again, and reduced to a dark shape moving beneath the surface.

 

You return to your hive, but you're pretty sure you see him in the distance as you close the door. Looking out the window, you see only a splash of water on the horizon, followed by stillness.


End file.
